


Five Times Natasha Comforted James (+ the one time he comforted her)

by alphatattoo



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphatattoo/pseuds/alphatattoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He nods in defeat, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and inhaling her rose perfumed scent, letting the feeling over her long nailed fingers scrape gently against his scalp soothe him. God, he knew exactly why he loved her. She knew what he needed, and she knew exactly when he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

 

_Love; it will not betray you_

_Dismay or enslave you,_

_it will set you free_

_Be more like the man you were made to be_

\- Mumford & Sons, Sigh No More

 

There was something so simple about their relationship, the way old habits and quirks stood the test of time. For the amount of time they knew and fell in love with each other, picking it up again decades later felt so easy. Though for him, adapting to everything these days wasn’t exactly perfect as he put portrayed. As much as he tried staying somewhat cheerful and optimistic, the trenches of depression were deep enough for him to continually trip over and fall in.

His room in his apartment felt constricting, despite the vast space it occupied. Rolling over across the dark sheets, he buried his face into the pillow and tried to allow his tight back muscles to relax for a moment so he could just _sleep_. In the army, sleep was rare enough as it was, and with the Soviets he was meant to be training and staying awake on week long missions. (And then he would be put into a stasis tube). A headache ebbed away harshly, pounding into the crevices of his skull. Groaning, his fists clenched in frustration.

 _Knock_.

A wave of red hair stands at the door. And then _her_ voice is the only sound he focuses in on, because his heart rate is up at an alarming level and is ringing in his ears. Deafening, almost.

“Джеймс, ты должен был позвонить ...,” she says in beautifully accented Russian, a language that made her who she was. For someone who spoke a thousand languages, this was the only one that he could listen to for days on end. French, Italian, German, Mandarin, Hindi, Arabic, Marathi, Spanish...he had heard them all.

He turns, eyes stricken with what she would recognise as utter desperation. With no hesitation, she moves through the room, wanting nothing more than to help him. A part of him already thinks that this is just a dream, that he’s gotten to the point of hallucinating. She was a dream in itself, because never would he think to have her again. Not like this. She was the angel in his nightmare.

Slipping off her shoes, she pulls back the covers and slips into bed beside him. He doesn’t hesitate to move closer to her, wrapping his arms around her so tightly that he’s worried that he’s almost crushing her. The steel texture of his arm would be giving off a cold vibe, but it’s clear that she doesn’t care. The slight shiver is normal with them, and she allows her hand to rest on his cheek, “I had a feeling you couldn’t sleep,” she said, English this time.

He nods in defeat, pressing his face into the crook of her neck and inhaling her rose perfumed scent, letting the feeling over her long nailed fingers scrape gently against his scalp soothe him. God, he knew exactly why he loved her. She knew what he needed, and she knew exactly when he did. Body relaxed against hers, he feels and hears the rumble of her chuckle, “Better?” she asks, lips pressed against his temple. Her body surrounded him, all smooth curves and crimson curls. A body he would dedicate his life to worshipping.

"Thank you, Natalia," he murmured, drifting off into a heavy sleep.

If every day could be spent like this, he would be the happiest man alive.


	2. II

The bustle and rushed lifestyle contained within the Avengers Mansion cannot be explained, and must be experienced in itself. Heroes, scientists, agents, billionaires and soldiers interacting with one another seemed like a huge feat, but the way they worked together was admirable. Cohesive. Connected.

He never got on with Clint Barton. Arrogance seeped out of the archer, an air of overconfidence and god that was frustrating. How she had managed to put up with him, let alone date the man was a question in itself. Natasha had been expecting a form of confrontation between the two of them when James had made his reappearance, but despite her attempts it was simply never going to work out.

So, after a heated argument beside the pool outdoors, a clenched jaw on both sides ends the conversation and James turns to watch Natalia dive under the glistening pool that looked like pit of endless opportunities. He doesn't want to disturb her, he knew she had a rough day at SHIELD at he was just as content with watching her beautiful figure glide through the water. Without a doubt she was aware of his presence, and after a moment he stands up and makes his way back inside, shooting dagger like glares at Clint as he leaves. The bastard.

Flopping down onto the couch, after a few minutes he's surprised when Natasha climbs onto his lap, "Hey there, soldier," she remarks casually. Before frowning. His expression gave all secrecy and guarding of emotion away, "Clint?" her head tilts to the side in her questioning. She was still wet from the pool, but she never looked more beautiful.

"That obvious?" he replied dryly, sarcasm a little too forced. "That guy's an asshole, Nat, he's basically asking for a good fist to the face-" he flexes his bionic arm by way of demonstration, and ignores Natasha’s raised eyebrow and shake of her head.

“Want me to kick his ass for you?” she asked, head resting on his shoulder before she nips lightly at his collarbone. This woman was going to be the death of him, and he didn’t mind at all.

"I hate him, but I don't want him dead, Natalia," he teases, burying his face into the crook of her shoulder before sucking on a particular spot. He knew her body inside and out. Like she knew his.

"Hmm..." is all she replies with, pushing him back against the couch gently. Curling up at his side, she yawns. Who knew she could make yawning look so sexy? He wasn't even surprised. "I'm going to have a nap so you better not get up," she warned, half teasing and half seriously. "And you need to relax."

He makes a face at her, but nods, arms coming around her as he props his chin on her shoulder, "Love you," he murmurs, nose brushing against the underside of her defined jaw line.

"I know," is her mumbled reply, eyes drifting closed. Watching her like this, seeing a deadly assassin so vulnerable like this was almost amusing. But he knew what she was trying to do - get his mind off anything to do with Clint. It worked well enough.

Chuckling, he moves his gaze from hers to see Clint standing in the doorway of the room, arms crossed. He swallows. Breathes. Moves his lips to Natasha's temple and closes his eyes as well. She made him better.


	3. III

Steve ended up in hospital one day. It was bad, so bad that it had Stark worried and James nearly lost it. The two of them spent every day in the hospital, through blood transfusions and surgery, waiting for the coma to end and the captain to wake. 

It wasn't looking likely. James didn't sleep, and Natasha knew there was only so much comfort she could offer him. Polystyrene coffee cup in hand, she moved into the room, Steve heavily ‘sleeping’ and the computer beside him emitting a beeping noise, steady - stable. Stable was good. Stable wasn’t dead.

“Вы должны спать,” she said softly, glancing between the two of them with sadness. She knew how hard he would be taking this. Too hard. She needed to take care of him, because that’s all she could do. He was the most important thing right now.

“Я не могу. Не, пока он не проснется. Мне нужно быть здесь,” he replies, the Russian coming off his tongue with ease, syllables rolling in systematic rhythm. Shaking his head, he actually turns to face her, dark bags of no sleep under his eyes.

Pausing for a moment, she pulls up a chair and sits down beside him. Silence is all she can do, before she rests her hand on his flesh and blood shoulder and squeezes it. "How can I help you?" she asks, gently, no force in her words. Forcing James into any form of confrontation wasn’t a good idea, and she had accepted that.

"I-" he begins to say, out a sob is ready to escape through his throat and he buries his face in his hands, not wanting to cry but knowing it was inevitable. Steve and Natasha would be the only two people he could ever sucumb to tears for. Not that he would admit it anyway.

Natasha's arm moves from it’s position on his shoulder, slides down his muscular arms and around his waist, comfort and safety are echoed through her movements. "James, he'll be okay," she murmured, almost pleading for him to calm down, arms now wrapped around him, "You know he will. He’s always okay.”

But James couldn’t see it that way. He just couldn’t. The same went for Natasha, whenever she got herself injured. Though he knew she could wake up and be okay, the doubt was always unsettling. Always there. It would take over his existence. Eventually. 

“Stay with me here tonight?” he asks.

He feels so small. Worthless. 

“You don’t even have to ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Вы должны спать,” - "You should sleep."
> 
> "Я не могу. Не, пока он не проснется. Мне нужно быть здесь." - "I can't. Not until he wakes up. I need to be here."

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> "Джеймс, ты должна была позвонить..." - "James, you should have called..."


End file.
